


Commemorative

by Val Mora (valmora)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Futurefic, M/M, PWP, joining the EU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-29
Updated: 2010-07-29
Packaged: 2017-11-28 02:50:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/669395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valmora/pseuds/Val%20Mora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Turkey had a great night. And he's going to have a great morning, too. This is how Greece gives congratulations. (futurefic)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Commemorative

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written [here](http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10960.html?thread=21972688#t21972688) on the kink meme for [this](http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10960.html?thread=21646288#t21646288) prompt and kindexed [here](http://community.livejournal.com/hetalia_kindex/1167826.html).

Turkey’s nose is warm but the back of his neck is cold. This probably has to do with the fact that he’s naked in bed with his nose buried against someone’s shoulder, but the sheets don’t go far enough up to keep the winter all the way out.

Smells nice, though. Sea-salt, olive oil, musk. Greece, then, and yeah, that’s his dick getting interested. Doesn’t seem like it’s got the wrong idea, either, given how close they are.

Greece shifts against him, and the covers gape a little more open, so now there’s a line of cold all down Turkey’s back except where Greece’s hands are, and where they’re sliding palm-down over his skin.

“How does it feel?” Greece asks. “To wake to your first full day of being an EU member.” His throat vibrates, warm and a little sticky with their shared heat, against Turkey’s lips.

“Like before,” Turkey says, “only with a stronger economy. And also like I got Hellenically laid.” And like he might get to again, if he plays this right. He brushes his lips over the tendons in Greece’s neck, feels them shift as Greece tilts his head back.

Yesterday was good. Better than good. Turkey’d been pretty certain that he’d finally get the okay from France and Germany to get into the EU, and that had been nice – he’d even managed to shake hands with his and Greece’s kid afterwards, which had been full of nasty little smiles on both their parts – but he hadn’t expected Greece to proposition him after the party. Their relations had been good for a while, but Turkey hadn’t thought they were good enough that Greece would offer him, at the end of the night, _Let’s talk about joint archeological projects._ Which he’d accepted.

He was an ass, but he wasn’t going to turn down the opportunity to have Greece’s. And he _did_ , was the thing. He’d been expecting a hand job, maybe some mouth if Greece was in a good mood.

What he got was two rounds of sex in his own bed in the Istanbul apartment, first one a glorious sixty-nine that had him clinging to Greece’s thighs and glad his mouth was full so he could put his moaning to good use. Second time after waiting to have a cup of bitter-strong coffee, Greece on his hands and knees, slow and open and ending wordless, too intent on the sensation and the heat between them to speak.

That’s what he calls congratulations.

“Cocky of you,” Greece says, but it doesn’t cut and doesn’t sound like it was meant to.

“Given mine was in you last night, I think I have an excuse.” Turkey grins against his cheek, then kisses him. Rocks his hips slow against Greece’s, so Greece’ll feel that he’s half-hard, and maybe make it a little more than half if Greece is interested.

He is, and the heat of Greece against him is real nice. Comforting, like. So he licks deeper into Greece’s mouth, pushes Greece into the bed, slides on top of him with one leg between his thighs.

Which means Greece’s leg is between his, as he finds out when Greece draws his thigh up, tight and sweet, and Turkey reflexively grinds down against it.

He can taste Greece’s smile, and that makes him want to stop, but – well. It feels so good, heat and hardness. And Greece’s hands sliding over his back, in time with the rock of Turkey’s hips, guiding him.

“That was dirty,” Turkey manages to snarl, finally, against Greece’s chin.

“I’m too sore for where your mind was going.” One hand shifts up his back, the other down, over his entrance and then past it, tracing the heavy tension of muscle and blood, palm down, holding him.

“Is this a joke?” Turkey asks the sheets next to Greece’s head. “Because I think it was pretty clear where this was going, and that you were going to get it, _before_ you got me by the balls.”

Greece laughs, and it feels good against Turkey’s cock, the shifting of muscle.

“I know,” he says finally, and lets go. Only his other hand has snuck its way up Turkey’s back and made its way to Karaburun and Çeşme, where he just. Fucking. Strokes.

Turkey shudders against him, breathes because that’s all he can do. Curves his back until Greece is slipped between his legs, like that’ll distract either of them. Turkey would prefer a hand job, personally, because it’s embarrassing how the pad of Greece’s finger stroking a curl can turn him into a heap of sweating desperate arousal. At least with a guy’s hand on your dick you have an excuse.

He grinds against Greece’s belly and snarls, “’f you’re going to wait until after I come to get inside me, I’m going to use that sword on the wall on your neck.”

“You wouldn’t.” Greece thrusts slowly against the inside of his thigh.

“You’d never get me into bed again.” His finger makes one more twist, slides aching-slow over Karaburun, and then he rests his hand on the back of Turkey’s neck, a safe centimeter or two from that lock of hair.

“Probably not,” Turkey admits, sitting up, reaching to the nightstand and the open container of lube that’s still sitting there from last night, “but it would feel good for about ten seconds.”

“Two. All the blood.”

“Five. I don’t mind –” Turkey hisses at the cold-slick of his own fingers inside himself, “messes.”

“Until you realize I’ve bled all over the sheets and your carpet.” Greece shifts his hand between them and reaches to join Turkey’s fingers with one of his own, dry except for what’s already there. Turkey clenches around them, grits his teeth and forces himself to let go. It’s been a while, and he’s going to hurt once the adrenaline wears off, but that’s only fair. It’s not like Greece was any more in practice, though Turkey’s looking to change that for both of them. There’s tight enough to feel good, and then there’s so tight it hurts. Goal’s the former, thanks, although –

He freezes as Greece pulls both their hands away, until he’s open and can feel his own muscles clenching around air. Until Greece, heavy and hot, is pressing against him, sliding slow-aching inside, and Turkey has to hold onto him to resist moving away. At least until Greece notices and rests his hands on Turkey’s hips and pulls him down, instead of rising to enter him – like Turkey’s fucking himself, and by Allah if his wilting dick doesn’t sit right back up again and beg harder at that thought.

“Fuck,” Greece swears, head falling back onto the pillow.

“We are.” Turkey shifts his hips forward, testing the angle, and feels Greece slip out of him a little. He shifts back, but it doesn’t feel like much of anything except Greece’s hips digging into him, and a real uncomfortable pressure inside. He reaches for more lube, rises off of Greece most of the way, and coats Greece up again. Listens to his gasp at the cold, and then lowers himself back down again. Better, definitely.

“We need to pay attention to our immigration,” Greece says, grinding up into him and then pushing Turkey away so he slides out before pulling him down again.

“Why?” Turkey leans back a little and straightens his back, and takes hold of himself as he rises off Greece again. Shifts down again, and strokes at the same time.

“So we don’t have more children.”

Turkey has to close his eyes against that thought, because he does want them, so bad it hurts. To have another go-round with Greece, being good parents, not like they were with the twins. Fuck.

“Don’t scare me,” he says. “I’m trying to get off.”

“You’re doing a bad job of reciprocating the effort,” Greece points out, and rises to meet him in a jolt that – fuck, yes, that angle. Turkey keeps one hand on his cock and pulls off, falls back down and feels all his muscles tighten as he speeds up.

“Not my fault you’re better at taking than giving,” he manages to retort.

“You say that,” Greece murmurs, laying his hand over Turkey’s, and sliding Turkey’s hand closer to his base, “but I point out the Dardanelles aren’t mine anymore.”

“Aren’t they?” Turkey grins at him, and tastes salt on his own lips.

“Are they?” Greece meets his gaze, expression weirdly serious for a guy who’s got someone riding him.

“Sure they are,” Turkey says, “if you can find Istanbul.”

“Constantinople,” Greece corrects him, probably reflexively, because that’s when he starts really fucking Turkey in honest. Pulling him down and then rocking up into him for deeper-faster-harder until it’s pretty much all Turkey can do to rise off him again even the couple of centimeters that mean Greece can hit his prostate. Over and over again.

Turkey comes over their combined hands, but Greece won’t let him stop – pulls him down, rocks into him through the clench of his orgasm, and comes gasping deep inside him.

Turkey lets himself drop forward on top of Greece, feeling the cool stickiness of Greece’s skin against his, and waits as Greece softens inside him. He’s going to leak, he can already feel it, but he thinks he kind of likes the idea. It’ll give him a chance to convince Greece to do him again.

Greece sighs, but doesn’t move when Turkey shifts to kiss his neck.

“Coffee?” Turkey offers, finally.

“Please.”

“Too bad. Fuck me again and then I’ll make some.”  



End file.
